


Pride & Prejudice

by cats_cradle



Series: Thorin X Reader Drabbles [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cats_cradle/pseuds/cats_cradle
Summary: You'd been back in Middle Earth for eight months. Life should have been perfect if it was a fairytale. Except...this was no fairytale.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you's to Likarian, chrisdurin, JUMPINGMANATEE, and Stormfield for taking the time to write their wonderful reviews.  
> A shout out to FandomBae007 for booting me up the backside to get this written.

 

A slow hand brushed your thigh, tracing the crease, now sliding between your legs. Gifted fingers teased you apart. A fingertip, honed to roughness from sword and smithing, set up a circling rhythm.

Soft lips framed by short bristles crept along your shoulder to your neck. The pinch of teeth gripping skin shot a flutter low in your belly, internal muscles clamped on emptiness, a shiver rushed the wrong way up your spine. It all converged and came tumbling out of you in a noisy tangle of squeaks, cries and panting breaths.

You climbed the ladder of arousal three rungs at a time. Nearing the top, ready to bound over the edge in glorious release.

Your belly convulsed. You gurgled. Your hand flew to your mouth. His hand shot away as you fast-crawled to the side of the bed and disgorged your dinner, all over Thorin’s boots.

Your mind grabbed hold of the mystery as to why he kept leaving his boots on your side of the bed. You’d nagged him countless times after you’d gotten out of bed and tripped over them. Bruised shins and knees became the norm for you. Thorin never seemed overly worried or fussed over you.

He called your colourful welts, war-wounds.

You called him a Prick!

You eased back to reality, glad you’re vomiting had stopped. You sunk back into the feathery mattress, wiping your mouth on your forearm. How long you were going to suffer from morning sickness was anybody’s bet. It really was! You’d heard Bofur running the betting pools. One for morning sickness, one for gender, and one for when your child would be born.

It seemed there weren’t any interspecies children born between dwarves and humans. So nobody knew how long you’d be pregnant. And as sickly as you were now feeling, you didn’t want to dwell on that subject.

A damp cloth pressed against your forehead, ran over your warm cheeks and sore throat, over the back of your neck and up your jaw wiping your mouth. Thorin had developed a routine, the quickest way to cool you down and clean you up.

You slumped against him, burying your face in the pit of his shoulder, hiding away. You were grungy, and that acrid smell of vomit surrounded you like a gross aura. A sob escaped jarring your aching torso. A big, warm hand enveloped your cheek, his thumb stroked the slight depression beneath your eye.

While his lips fluttered kisses to your forehead, his hand caressed your back. Thorin murmured about the coming morning. How he’d have a bath ready for you. How he’d scrub your back and feet, even between your toes. How he’d wash your hair and braid it simply, rather than the intricate twists your maid inflicted on you.

You gave him sluggish nods, your boneless body lowered to cool sheets, the warm blankets pulled up and snuggled around you. His muscled arm curled over your body, his spooning tightly to yours. It was all you needed to send you back to sleep.

* * *

 

You’d been back in Middle Earth for eight months. The same amount that saw you back in your own time. It seemed odd that you were counting the days.

You knew, in your time, you counted because of the sadness that infected you. Now you were home where you belonged, and yet, the happiness you craved alluded you.

You were seven months pregnant and barely even had a bump there. If you were a dwarf, you wouldn’t be showing at all. Though your symptoms — as Thorin called them —positively labelled you as an expectant mother. For four months you’d suffered morning sickness. Except you weren’t only sick in the mornings, afternoons, evenings and night times were huddled into that description.

It became a running joke amongst your friends that you threw up more times in a day than hobbits had meals. Which had been funny at first, now it annoyed the hell out of you.

“Good morning, my lady.”

You were dragged out of your thoughts by the hurricane that was your maid, Hath. The dwarrowdam, as female dwarfs were called, bustled in, you glanced over your shoulder to see the space behind you.

Thorin, once more, hadn’t kept his promise. You weren’t sure if he was called away early, or more likely, as was becoming the norm, he just forgot. Either way, a large part of you ached that he wasn’t here to help you into a warm bath and scrub your back.

“Your bath is ready, my lady.” Her bland voice abraded your nerves, every muscle tightening.

Hath stood across the room waiting for you to lumber out of bed, with a pose worthy of a soldier standing guard over the enemy. She had the door to your private bathing suite open, and some rough-looking towels thrown over her arm. Her imperious glare browbeat you out of bed and across the room. It was like volunteering for a torture session.

In the tepid bath, your back wasn’t scrubbed. Instead, Hath scoured away five layers of skin. Your hair washed via the convenient bucket of cold water poured over you.

You thought your maid would be a brilliant addition to the CIA. No one would keep their secrets for long with Hath working them over.

Your body glowing a fierce pink you were given no time to wallow in the bath until your skin pruned. Hath near yanked you out and dried you with scratchy towels that eroded another five layers. Next, your maid wrapped you in your dressing gown and marched you to your vanity.

Pushed down onto the velveteen stool, your only comfort, your hair was tugged and tousled into many braids that were then looped back up into your hair, and secured with hairpins stabbed into your head.

You hated this severe look. Your hair pulled back tightly from your face, stretching your skin, giving you a skeletal look. It wasn’t you. However, the dwarrowdams favoured these styles, and you’d been covertly cautioned to fit in any way you could.

Next came dressing. You were allowed to pull your underthings on thankful that your pregnancy meant no corsets for a while. Hath strutted to your wardrobe, pulled it open and grabbed a dress. You didn’t get a choice. You were stuffed into a garish yellow thing with lots of fluffy petticoats and a low cut bodice that showed off your expanding bust.

“Hath?” You stared at your reflection. “Is Thorin expecting some visiting dignitaries today?”

“I’ve not been told so, my lady.” You couldn’t help cringing your shoulders at her stern rebuke. Maybe you’d got it wrong? After all, you had been listening in on Balin’s private conversation. And, let's face it, ever since you fell pregnant it was like your brain cells were hijacked daily by the baby.

You nodded, and the dwarrowdam returned a single nod that was more like her silent way of telling you to dry up and blow away.

Left alone you slumped back on the stool, slapping down the mass of petticoats that rose up to smother you. You glanced at your desk and saw the flat surface empty bar your diary. You walked over, wincing at the pinch of your leather boots. You flipped open the leather-bound book and saw your usual duties. Meetings. Lots of them. All of them annoying.

The important stuff like trade negotiations and the council and guild meetings were handled by Thorin. You met with the rich wives, the cooks, the butchers, the bakers, and yes, even the candlestick makers. It was your duty to see to the upkeep of your home, like any good wife.

You closed your diary and sat in your chair staring out the window, tapping out an old love song on the wooden arm. This was your home and your life now. You condemned your shallowness for even harbouring a smidgeon of doubt.

Thorin had done much to find you. He’d even overruled his council to bring you here to be his Queen. You, at the very least, could suck it up and get on with it, even if you did resemble Tweety-Pie.

* * *

 

You trudged wearily down the stone corridor, dragging limp petticoats after you. Today was hell. No, that was a lie. Your average day was hell. This day was the ninth ring of hell.

You were getting sick and tired of walking into rooms populated with spiteful dwarves and dwarrowdams. You’d had enough of hearing them conversing easily in the common speech until they noticed you and switched to their language. A language that sounded like they were constantly hacking up hairballs.

Though what had turned your day treacherous were the dwarvlings. Yesterday, you’d ventured outside to a warm spring day and watched the little ones run around the blossoming trees. One of them, a stout little lad, bashed his friend on the head with his wooden sword, proclaiming he was King Thorin. You couldn’t help laughing.

When they saw you, a shyness took hold in them. You flounced up to the very much shorter King with his makeshift bucket-crown and declared how brave and noble he was. The grin you were granted made all the bad things vanish like dawn’s spiralling mists evaporated by the warm sun.

Today you’d bounded out wanting their infectious happiness to dissolve the gloom of your day. The dwarvlings were playing once more. Your boisterous little King was there, waving his wooden sword to ward off his friend — who was ordered to be Smaug and had to die theatrically.

It seemed history was all but ignored in this game.

Except, when they all saw you… they shrieked and fled. One little girl bawling to her friend that you would curse them and turn them into orcs.

You didn’t think pain had a sound. Yet, as you stood there, watching them shrink into the distance, you were sure that ripping noise was your heart.

Stopping in the hallway, you leant against the cold wall, pressing your cheek to the frigid grey stone and rested a hand on your belly. The thought of your child running away from you like that, or, worse, dwarvlings bullying your child because of their Mother’s race.

You closed your eyes and canted your body against the wall. You could feel the mighty thump of the furnaces deep below vibrate into your body. You matched your breaths to the steady thrum of the huge bellows. It was a stolen moment of peace that placed a band aid over your fractured soul.

When you dragged your worn out body into your room, you aimed for the bed and laid down. The feather mattress moulded to you, and you reached out for Thorin’s pillow. Dragging it to your body, you pressed your face into it, inhaling leather, soap, sandalwood and patchouli. You let tiredness and your husband’s scent drag you away to the past. Your dreams filled with adventures and gallant rescues, happier times and an extraordinary love blooming.

You woke once at the sound of Hath coming into your room, informing you that dinner would be served within the hour. You shook your head and sent her away, knowing it wasn’t unusual for you to miss dinner in the great hall.

Thorin always brought you a plate of something later and would sit and talk with you, encouraging you to eat in that charmless way of his. Smiling in your sleep, you looked forward to seeing him later.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your nightmare goes from bad to worse!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you's to JUMPINGMANATEE and chrisdurin for their lovely reviews. Thank you to everyone who left Kudos as well. I hope you like this next chapter and I apologise in advance for the heavy angst. (Not sorry really)

* * *

 

The slumping of the bed woke you. Lazily you dragged open your lids and stared at the wide back of your husband. He was bent over, tugging off his boots, slapping them down on his side of the bed this time. You reached out and skimmed your fingers over his warm tunic. The straightening of his back, the stilling of his hands. These clues, familiar after your months together, pointed to Thorin being annoyed. What he was irked at puzzled you.

“Thorin,” you croaked. His head barely moved to acknowledge you.

“What’s wrong?” You pulled yourself up a little resting back on the pillows.

“You were absent from dinner.” His voice was monotone, every word clipped and annunciated as though he were holding back other words.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t feel like it tonight.” You stretched out to touch him once more, and he shifted sideways, out of reach.

“I know this time is hard for you, but all I asked of you was one night. One night to attend dinner. You knew how important this night was.”

You shook your head. “What was so important about tonight?”

You searched your memory. Nothing was said to you. You were sure of it. If it were that important, it would be in your diary. You recorded all important meetings in there so you wouldn’t forget.

“All I wanted was for you to be there to greet the party from the Blue Mountains.”

To hear Thorin’s disappointed tone, to watch the dismal shake of his head, urged you into alertness.

“I swear to you,” you defended, “I didn’t know about the dinner tonight. Hath never said anything.”

“From her account, you never gave her a chance. Your maid told me how you snapped at her and ordered her from our room.”

“I…” You thought carefully about what happened. Did you snap at her? You thought you’d been mildly pleasant, albeit still half asleep.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. All I wanted was for this night to go right. For my sister to meet you. Not for us to be left waiting and informed by a hysterical servant you would not be attending.”

Thorin turned and leant into you, one hand braced on the carved headboard beside you. “Do you have any idea what impression you gave my sister?” His face screwed tight and narrowed eyes prompted you to sit up. You rubbed your face, unsure what to do. All you could say was the truth. “Thorin, no one told me about tonight. I swear to you.”

He hauled back and flew from the bed around to your side of the room. Marching over to the window and your overly large desk, he snatched up a letter.

“You had no idea about tonight?” He stormed back waving the parchment in his fist. “This missive, written in my own hand, informs you of your attendance.”

You reached for the letter, and he dropped it in your lap, snatching it up you read the words printed in his fine cursive writing.

“I haven’t seen this. When was it sent?”

“Two weeks ago.”

Your glare shot up to meet his, “That’s not possible.”

“So, I’m lying now?” His brows climbed higher, eyes wide at your accusation. His lips shifted into a sneer. “As usual, everyone else is at fault except you?”

“No,” you shouted and instantly regretted it. A pounding took up residence above your right ear. Clenching your eyes shut against the spiking ache you tried to explain. “Thorin, I’m not calling anyone a liar. I… I just don’t remember receiving this. I’m sorry, truly.”

He sighed through his nose, his shoulders slumping, hands hanging loosely at his thighs, his head bowed in defeat. “It makes no difference. The damage is done, and I see no way to correct it. Your lack of attendance is considered a sign of disrespect to my people.”

“Thorin,” you teased, trying to lighten the moment. You gazed up at him through your lashes. “It’s dinner, not negotiations for nuclear disarmament. I’ll meet your sister for breakfast. I’ll get this sorted. Surely, your sister can remember what it feels like to be pregnant.”

Thorin glowered at you, “Aye, my sister remembers, as do I.” He growled the words, stepping closer. “I remember her attending every meeting _and_ meal. Welcoming dignitaries and acting on _my_ behalf in negotiations through two pregnancies, without so much as a single complaint about her tiredness, her sickness, her feet aching —Everything, that you use as an excuse to shirk your duties as Queen.”

You stared at your husband. You’d both been through many trials in your relationship. Never, though, had you been given any reason to doubt his love and respect for you. Never had you thought he could say something deliberately cruel as this. His cutting remarks were always well-aimed, but never like this.

This wasn’t Thorin shouting and bawling like your usual arguments. This was your husband uttering spiteful words in a tone that said he believed every word he spoke.

“That’s not fair.” You slid your legs off the bed twisting your body, pushing away the pillow that was curled into your side. Your bright yellow dress twisting around your legs, you yanked at the uncomfortable material to dislodge it.

“And yet, you believe your actions this night have been fair?” His voice was clipped and sharp once more. “You find humiliating me in front of my family to be fair?”

You looked into his face, blue eyes dulled to a flat grey by his scowl and pleaded, “I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say?” Inside you, there was a familiar coldness seeping its way through your body. You shivered from it and dropped your gaze to the murky brown floor slabs.

“Perhaps an offer that you will at least try to do better.”

You closed your eyes at his indifferent tone. “I’ll try to do better,” you agreed.

You waited for an answer of some sort. His brisk expulsion of breath coming out in a hiss seemed to be his reply. You didn't see Thorin move only felt him slump down on the other side of the bed. The heavy rustle of clothes being discarded the only sound in the room.

Inching off the bed, rubbing your midriff beneath your breasts to dispel the chill you made for your wardrobe and the drawers held within. Pulling out a nightdress, you didn’t stop to look at the lump ensconced under the covers with his back to you.

Inside your bathing suite, you slipped the latch across locking the door and slid down beside the large metal bathtub.

A tear traversed your cheek, dripping off your chin and onto your bodice. Pulling your knees up, laying your cheek on them you let the tears trickle free over the bridge of your nose. Meanwhile, the cold inside you steadily turned into numbness.

 

* * *

 

You weren’t sure how long you were in the bathroom. You didn’t want to leave until Thorin was asleep. His words constantly circling around your brain. Every so often you would press your ear to the door, but the thick wood prevented you from hearing anything.

Finally, you changed into your nightgown and sat on the edge of the bath, deciding to give it another ten minutes. There was a little voice inside you that kept asking what was wrong with you.

If this was a week ago, or even a few days ago, you would have bitten Thorin’s head off. Called him a ‘Prick’ and verbally battered the dwarf. If of course, it had been any day except this one. This one day where everything rose up to challenge and torment you.

It was too much right now. You couldn’t be a Queen and have all this horrible emotional baggage floating around inside you. The part you’d thought once gone, the part that helped you survive for eight months back home, came back to life. You could feel nothing. You decided it was the only way you would survive life in Erebor.

Standing up, you moved to the door and shifted the latch. Opening it a fraction, the jaundiced light of your bedroom came into bleary-eyed view. Deep breaths greeted you as you slipped out and pushed the door closed.

Creeping over to the bed you stood there, watching Thorin’s sleeping body. Right now, you wanted him holding you. His strong, capable hands stroking your arms or back.

Looking around the room at your wardrobe standing next to Thorin’s. Your desk by the long block of windows intersected by lead. The curtains you’d had made to frame them.You felt you were a stranger in this room, now. It was like staying at one of those motorway hotels, all ridiculous luxury, but never truly home. Even the room in Margaret’s house had begun to feel comfortable.

Everything you’d shared, the laughter, the tears, the intimacy of lovemaking, the conceiving of a child, all seemed like it belonged to someone else. You were now some dreary voyeur who never truly belonged here.

Decision made you about turned and headed to the main door, there was a bedroom at the end of the corridor. You thought it might have been a servant’s room long ago. It held a small bed and wardrobe, a little stand in the corner held a porcelain bowl.

No matter what its use had once been, it was empty and had a good lock on the door. You disappeared inside, climbing on the single bed. It wobbled on its rickety legs, creaking a protest of having a body laying in it after all these years.

You closed your eyes, hoping then wishing that if you lay there long enough, you’d eventually fall asleep. It seemed even hopes and wishes were indifferent to you.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to the following people kind enough to leave a review for me. JUMPINGMANATEE, Tina, InsanelyCapricornus and Nelswp. To all that left Kudos, thank you as well.  
> Enjoy this chapter, I'm sorry for the lack of action, but this is the calm before the storm. I've been advised by my beta-reader you will need tissues for the next chapter coming soon.

* * *

 

 You dragged open swollen eyes, but your pounding head forced you to snap them closed. Slowly, you cracked your lids and looked at the grey wall.

There was no real light in the room, either from a window or wall sconce. Yet, everywhere held this unearthly illumination, you thought it came from the gleam of vast mountains of gold that had seeped in over time to every corner of Erebor.

Outside your door, you could hear stamping boots, a slamming door, the bustle of too much life. Approaching the door, you unlocked it and peeked through the crack.

Thorin and Dwalin were marching down the corridor. They each held purpose in their stride, Thorin muttering something to his friend. You slunk back into the shadow of the doorway and let them pass.

“You’d best apologise when you see her.” There was a clear warning in Dwalin's tone.

“I will," Thorin assured. "I’m not sure if she will forgive such intolerable disrespect. I know I wouldn't.”

Thorin’s passing words forced you further back into the room, leaving the door ajar. It seemed they were discussing Lady Dís.

For a moment, as they’d marched passed, you’d hoped they were talking about you. Yearned for them both to be stampeding over Erebor searching for you, for Thorin to find you. He’d already done that once, travelled to a new world to bring you back to him, promised you’d never be apart again.  Perhaps, Thorin was comfortable in the knowledge you wouldn’t steal away in the night. After all, where would you go?

To hear him talking about his sister, his concern only for her, reminded you his family, his people, were his world, his reason for living.

Once upon a time, a family had been everything you craved. The desire to be part of a bigger machine, fitting like the missing cog. You’d thought you’d found your place, but like your time with your mum, you discovered it was only temporary.

You leant against the wall, a hand pressed beneath your bust. You stroked the ball of ice beneath your heart. Slipped your hand down and covered the slight curve of your belly.

You took deep breaths and imagined exhaling everything you couldn’t keep. The numbness blanketed you like a long lost friend, and you found yourself able to stand on stiff legs.

Your decision reaffirmed, you approached the door and stepped out into an almost empty corridor. Your maid stood at the door of Thorin’s bedroom, watching you.

“My lady,” she greeted you in her insipid voice. Though one bushy brow was raised in silent question. You didn’t give in to her curiosity. Walking towards her you signalled with one hand for her to enter the room and followed.

“Would you like your bath prepared now, my lady?”

“Yes, please, Hath.”

Going to your wardrobe, you inspected the hanging contents and chose your dress for the day. Behind you a throat cleared, turning you gave a vacuous glance at your maid.

“Is everything alright, my lady?”

“Everything’s fine,” you replied.

For a moment, as you looked into grey eyes, a glint of something, maybe humanity, entered the dwarrowdam’s gaze. It evaporated with her stern nod, and you put it down to a trick of the diffused dawn light creeping through the curtains.

Hath disappeared, and you waited in the room alone, staring at your desk. You commanded your eyes to stillness; otherwise, they’d be glued to the big bed behind you. The ghosts of spiteful words exaggerated your headache, their power over you was tormenting and cruel. For once, you were glad of Hath’s company.

Today your bath was hot, and Hath’s usual torturous habits were subdued. Though she didn’t talk to you and yanked you around like a toddler, there was something different about the dwarrowdam.

Out of the bath and seated on your stool, Hath began combing out your wet hair. The style today was four braids, looped at the back of your head to form what resembled two upside-down-arches.

Slipping on your underthings Hath glared at the dress you’d picked.

“Would you not prefer something less…thick, my lady.”

“No, thank you.” Your maid shrugged and grabbed up the dress. There were no layers of petticoats with this one. A simple flint grey dress, meant for the colder months, it buttoned up the back to your nape, and though it showed off your curving figure, it was overly modest and plain.

You thought you looked like Jane Eyre.

As usual, Hath didn’t wait around for your dismissal, the dwarrowdam took off with a furtive glance at you and a hunch to her shoulders that made her look as though she had no neck.

You stared at the mirror, and a regal woman stared back. A touch to your heart and you were up and ready for the first day of your new life. The woman in the mirror crossed to her desk and checked her diary, then marched to the door. The woman that left the room was the Queen of Erebor.

 

* * *

 

Thorin’s eyes landed on you the moment you entered the hall, they travelled over you and a frown creased his forehead. Ignoring his attention you stopped at the end of the long table and faced a matriarchal dwarrowdam who bore a striking resemblance to Thorin, including the beard.

“Lady Dís.” You spoke with punctuated words, all vowels and consonants formed correctly.  To hear you, a person could be mistaken in thinking you’d been spat out of one of those prestigious finishing schools.

You offered a perfect curtsy to the Princess Royal. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for my intolerable rudeness of last night. I should have been here to welcome you home. I meant no disrespect in my lack of attendance, my lady.”

As the dwarrowdam stared at you, from beneath thin brows, and sky blue eyes, you expected some sniping remark.

“I took no offence, my dear.” She smiled between the wispy beard, and the downy blackness perched on her top lip. “In fact, I understand completely. Thorin used to run me ragged at Ered Luin, he’s too obtuse to understand the labours of a woman when they’re with child.”

And right there, as Thorin gaped, you knew you could have had an ally. If only Dís had arrived sooner.

 

* * *

 

Lady Dís had asked you to sit beside her through breakfast, and the dwarrowdam purposefully put her back to her brother. You didn’t know the intricacies of dwarven families, but Thorin’s grumpy glare and the occasional bang of a goblet on wood told you there was tension between brother and sister.

Your conversation was innocuous. The princess chattered about her sons, her journey, how Dale looked. There were no questions, no silent judgements on whether you were good enough for her brother. For a moment you wondered if the idle banter was a smokescreen. The dwarrowdam in front of you was not what you’d expected, and the numbness in your mind didn’t allow for long, complex equations about this situation.

Once breakfast was over, and Lady Dís stood she waved you up as well. “I wonder what banality is your first royal duty of the day?” she asked.

Her words were over-loud, almost slung over her shoulder at her brother. You couldn’t help dipping your head, eyes shuttered, as a warmth ran from your cheeks down your neck pinkening your skin.

A stifling pause covered the room only disbursed by the mad chirruping of Kíli hollering across the hall at his mother. You glanced up at the Princess and her calculating gaze.

“Mother, Fíli has saddled the ponies for our morning ride.” Kíli offered his arm and you were relieved the moment Dís accepted and left after extracting a promise from you to take lunch with her.

A deep breath settled you, and you looked up your gaze colliding with Thorin’s and wished Lady Dís was still here. The moment he stood, his sliding chair squealing across the floor, your entire body stiffened as though waiting for a physical attack.

Thorin’s movements were slow, as though approaching a startled pony. His beautiful eyes were dimmed, his movements economical, he stopped a chair width away. His hand settled on the wooden back of the chair, fingers gripping in. You wanted to bolt from the room, lose yourself in the humdrum of your duties. Not stand here looking at your love with an invisible chasm between you.

He opened his mouth, and your apprehension became a crushing weight. “I promised I’d do better.”  The defensive statement seemed to rattle him, his mouth flapped a little before he could force words out, “What I said last night—”

“You were right. I was disrespectful.”

He reached out to you. “Let me finish, please. I was wr—”

“I have duties to attend to, excuse me.” You’d cut him off twice now, unable to handle the emotional storm he’d rile up if you let him explain. Walking away was all that was left you, and right now it seemed the wisest choice. The ball of ice in your chest compressed your lungs making you grasp for every shallow breath.

Once outside the hall, you broke into a fast stride, threading through the nobles milling around the corridors, waiting for their audience with the king.

Most ignored you, others whispered too softly for you to hear. One had no problem snapping some word at you in their guttural language. You didn’t know the word, though you’d heard it enough to seek out Balin for its translation. His cheeks flushed cherry making him look like Santa, he’d refused to give you a direct answer, only commenting that it wasn’t a word used in ‘polite’ company.

This time you didn’t stop to let the hurt dig in. The ball of ice, the stern dress, all became your shield. You were impervious. Inside you mournfully congratulated yourself on your decision.

 

* * *

 

Your day was the same as all others, before venturing outside Erebor. You’d found it easy to slip back into the dreary routine. Talk among the Dwarrowdams was of Lady Dís’ arrival. There was to be a feast at the end of the month to welcome all from Ered Luin. In that time, four more parties were expected to arrive from the Blue Mountains.

The celebration would be extravagant as usual, and many thought Lady Dís should be consulted on the planning. You’d agreed, only too happy to hand over the planning and stress to your sister-in-law. Likely the night would be a success without you at the helm.

When lunch came, and you trudged into the private quarters of the princess, you’d been startled to see Thorin leaving. His face set in a fury you’d not seen him in for a while. Though his sister made no references to their conversation. You felt you had no right to enquire about it. It was family business, and your mum drummed it into you that you didn’t wash your dirty laundry in public.

Dinner that night was formulaic. You sat next to Thorin his questions about your day were answered, in short, stiff sentences. The divide growing ever wider, you determined not to breach it.

Every time he tried to edge the conversation in a certain direction, Lady Dís would interrupt. Sometimes dragging him into another conversation. You didn’t understand what was happening, but could only be grateful for her well-timed interference.

 

* * *

 

Exhaustion started to claim you, and you excused yourself from the hall. Thorin pressing a chaste kiss to your hand, you knew there was an apology whispered on soft lips against your skin.

Returning to the royal hallway, you stopped to stare at the room you’d slept in. The cold voice within begged you to enter, but you couldn’t. The nights with Thorin, held in his arms were too tempting. You would value every silent moment where your actions could scream louder than the words you could never say.

Sleep claimed you once you laid your head on the familiar pillow. The deep inhale of his scent nudged you into dreams drawing a smile across dry lips.

In the night you awoke and broke apart. You knew the feel of his arms around you would become a torture you’d welcome. The agony of his soft breath against your neck, the way your hair tangled with his curls, the colours merging together on oneness. You’d promised once to make every moment count. Now, you would be faithful to that promise every night.

 

* * *

 

Time went on for you, your belly swelling and changing your centre of gravity. Walking became waddling, and soon the first real kicks of life could be felt.

He was a football player, you decided. For you were sure your child was a boy. He was active at night, and Thorin had taken to sleeping with one hand on your tummy to feel his every kick.

There were so many changes to your body and life, but you handled each one with detached aplomb, surprising yourself at what you could accomplish.

You no longer had Hath as your maid and now enjoyed the luxury of wallowing in your bath until you wrinkled like a prune, even though it became a tight fit. Still, though you wore your buttoned-up dresses like they shield they were.

Thorin was attentive, but his face now wore a constant crease of concern. He always looked as though he was waiting for something to happen. There were times when the tension on his face would become too much, then he would speak to his sister out of earshot of you. You’d watch Dís nod and pat him on the arm, and for a few hours that expectancy within him would be abated.

It was the strangest life in that you slept, ate, and sat beside each other, were exceedingly polite to each other and yet, you were on opposite sides of the world, with a yawning cavern between you. Then, the night would come, and you would press your growing body tight against his, feel his fingers trace over your bump, listen to him murmur words of love, while you feigned sleep and memorised every second of this elusive togetherness.

Around you, other things had become different as well. It seemed it only took Lady Dís’ approval of you for everyone else in Erebor to follow her lead.

Dwarves and dwarrowdams who openly spurned you were now vying to be your best friends. You were invited to sit in on various private functions, listening to the wives gossip in common speech. It appeared that now your opinion meant something, even if it was on a subject as trite as the latest colour of dress that the wives should be wearing.

However, not many mentioned your unspoken decision to gradually give up the daily running of the House of Durin. You knew they all saw it as a silent victory over you.

The most recent group that wanted your attention were the high-born dwarrowdams who met in the mornings to compare their cross-stitch. You’d tried your hand at it but found turning needle and thread into dramatic works of art was not your calling.

The others ooh’d and ahh’d at your muddled mess as though you had created the Mona Lisa. It was sickening. It only reinforced the idea within you that you were not one of them. Now that you could feel your son inside, you knew he would suffer the same destiny. They’d spout their loyalty to his face, but behind his back, they’d be lining up their daggers.

Still, you kept your mask on even though inside you were hating yourself a little more each day. A frozen horror grew alongside your baby that you were the one responsible for the life he would live. Knowing that there was something you could do about it gave you the courage to get up every morning.

 

* * *

 

 You were now sixteen months pregnant, your bump heavy, your walk unsteady. You’d received an invitation, by letter, to join Thorin and his family in his stateroom for lunch.

Wobbling around the corner, breathless from the never ending stairs, you stopped shy of the doorway, raised voices keeping you back.

“What action have you taken?”

You tried to peer into the room without being seen. Dís’ voice was frigid and sharp. You’d never heard her speak this way before.

“I removed her from service.” Thorin’s voice was bitter in reply.

“Hmm, I’m not sure that is the action I would have taken.”

“No,” Thorin said, “You would remove her head from her shoulders.”

Those words weren’t in jest, you knew when Thorin was joking about something.

“And the others?” you listened intently to the princess’ question. Holding your breath as you waited for a reply.

“The threat is abated.” Thorin sighed, and the rustle of cloth alerted you someone was moving around. You watched Thorin appear, stopping by the fireplace and leaning one elbow on it, staring into the flames. “I can’t believe…

“Have you told her?”

Thorin shook his head.

“Why ever not?”

“We don’t talk, you said—”

“I know what I said, but you’ve known for a while. Have you even explained to her about that night?”

Thorin shook his head, his beautiful hair twitching on his shoulders. Looking at the magnificent dwarf-king even though he appeared humbled, took your breath away. The ball of ice trembled along with your belly, and you massaged both spots pleading for calmness.

“So, your wife still believes she is to blame?”

“We do not talk anymore.”

“Is it any wonder why, when you have the brains of a goat!”

You smothered your snicker with the palm of your hand. Thorin looked so affronted.

“Thorin, she is your wife! Your wife, first and foremost. You are her husband, first and foremost. King and Queen, are titles, they mean nothing without unity.”

“I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” Dís approached him, and for a moment you thought the Princess was going to slap him upside the head. “She’s your wife, your other half, the one that completes you. She is day to your night, the sun to your moon, there is no other way of existing. You should be honest and open with her, especially now.”

Thorin stared at his sister, and you watched his eyes, they looked broken and confused.

“She is not honest with me.”

“How can she be?” Dís responded, flapping her arms. “Even I can see the woman is terrified of letting her guard down now. I know what it is she feels, brother.”

A manicured finger levelled at his nose, “You accused her of deliberately missing our welcoming dinner, then discovered the culprit, her maid, had stolen the letter and planted it later to make her look bad, and still you haven’t told her the truth. This is something you could have shared with her, it would have bridged the gap.”

Your body became a vacuum as every bit of air was sucked out of you. Swivelling on your heel, using the wall as a brace you waddled away.

Erebor’s long corridors and steep stairs were proving too much for you, now. Still, huffing and panting, you tried your hardest to get back to your room. Wanting to hide away.

Many questions invaded your mind. How long had Thorin known? Was this why Hath had been replaced? Why didn’t he tell you? Was Hath the threat that had been abated? What new danger did this present to your son, your husband? What would happen after you…

It was fate, you supposed, that had Dwalin and Balin heading down the stairs towards you when your brain short-circuited from your new knowledge, and you slumped forwards.

Dwalin’s strength was well known, and right now you were glad of it. Balin nearly tumbled over, but Dwalin had hold of you, steady as a rock as he shouted for help.

The sudden rip of pain across your belly, your ferocious scream, the puddle between your legs as your body curled inwards announced your son was on his way.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill for me this chapter. It's not the last chapter of this story.
> 
> Shoutouts to: JUMPINGMANATEE, Tina, FandomBae007 and Just4Me for your stellar reviews and for encouraging me.

* * *

 

Loving Thorin Oakenshield would never be easy. You knew that now, but in those different times on the road to Erebor it had all been much simpler.

When threatened with loss of limb, courtesy of a dirty orc blade, or being eaten by a colossal bear your primary concerns, loving Thorin came with little complication.

Every quiet moment alone became essential as breathing. Every shared look and frantic touch, every bittersweet taste. The cry of your name and the shared scent of cooling bodies spent from lovemaking. There was no room for artifice between you. You both accepted the other’s foibles and swore it made you love each other more.

When you lost Thorin for eight months, you prayed every day to see him again. Promised so much to God and the universe that you’d pay any price to see him one more time.

When he found you and took you home, everything began to slot back into place. Travelling towards Erebor, camping under stars. Fitting comfortably once more into the life you knew.

Then Erebor loomed, and you’d been lost in its black shadow ever since.

You ground your teeth cutting off your scream. Thorin doused your brow with a damp cloth. His ragged face begging you to let out the agony you’d walled up inside.

You bit down harder, braced your body and panted through your nose. You couldn’t let anything out because you knew your first scream would break you. Then, everything would tumble out.

For eight months you’d schemed and plotted. You’d set about disentangling your heart from Thorin’s. Disconnected your life until the time came to start a new one, far away from Erebor. It’s the only way, you thought between spasms. Your mum always told you to pick your battles wisely, and you knew you couldn’t fight an entire race with their prejudice and mistrust, not with so few allies who could easily become casualties.

You loved your husband enough to let him have the life he deserved. You loved the child within enough to walk away and not be the ruin of his life.

It was simple and uncomplicated.

“Let’s get her up again,” Óin gruffed, he approached the bed wagging his fingers at Thorin. “Let’s get her around the room again.”

“She cannot walk. You heard her the last time.”

Thorin glared at the old dwarf on your other side. “How many times are you going to put her through this?”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted the impending argument.

Thorin glared at you, shaking his head in frustration. You turned away and held your hand out to Óin.

“No,” Thorin skirted the bed and helped you up.

Óin stared at your husband, his ragged face creased in concern. “Tis the only way, lad,” he offered.

Thorin grasped you against his side and began the tedious walk around the room; it was supposed to aid you in your labours. Help the baby come quicker, the midwife said. You could barely put one trembling foot in front of the other with this constant pain and exhaustion nipping at your heels.

Your labour had lasted twenty-four hours already and the worrying glances you’d noticed everyone shooting everyone else, except you, told you all you needed to know. They didn't only fear for your baby.

Another contraction and you stopped, gripping tight to Thorin’s arm, gritting your teeth.

“Let it out,” he coaxed. But you wouldn’t give in. The contraction eased away, lingering at the base of your spine.

All you could think about right now were modern day hospitals with gas and air and trained doctors.

“One more time, Lass.” You nodded to Óin panting and wheezing, your face dripping sweat, your eyes stinging. Thorin wiped your forehead with his hand, then helped you circuit the room one more time.

 

* * *

 

Thirty-six hours came and went. You only knew it because Thorin was becoming more desperate and boisterous with Óin and the midwife. He’d demanded a human midwife fetched from Dale.  Threatened Óin with execution if he let anything ‘bad’ happen.

To you, it made no difference. You’d accepted it as you stared at the wall. This was fate stepping in, ensuring your beloveds had the best life.

A fiery spasm ripped over your lower belly, and a savage need took up inside you. You had to push.

Thorin was quickly beside you, the midwife and Óin levering you up so the dwarf could slip behind you. Thorin’s feet braced on the bed, and your hands settled on his bent knees. You sunk back into his chest, automatically finding the indentation in his shoulder made for your head. For a moment, absolute sorrow wound through you. Tears bloomed in your eyes, and you dug your fingers into his muscled legs.

They began shouting at you to push. Thorin begged his voice brittle in your ear. Your hands clawed into him, your body splitting apart.

Finally, you could take no more and threw your head back and roared. You discovered that every scream and curse helped you focus the pain, you screeched it out to the walls and let the inanimate stone deal with it.

When your skin ripped apart between your legs and the building pressure of a huge bowling ball lodged inside you, you tried to lean forward.

“That’s it, Lass. Let your body tell you what to do.”

Your body telling you to inhale, to wait. Lean back against Thorin and let his strength support you. You clawed your hands into his leather breeches, spread your legs wider, braced your feet against his boots, and bunched every muscle in your body.

“That’s it,” Óin encouraged.

You were on the edge of an enormous cataclysm. Your heart walloped against your rib cage. Your lungs burned with wanting to let go of your breath. Still, you waited, perched on the brink until the message passed from brain to body.

Now!

You let go of everything and pushed. Something wet rushed out and the tightness between your legs loosened, only for something wider to lodge between your pelvis stretching lacerated skin.

“One more, Lass.” Óin leant between your legs, and you felt him twist something, you screamed and pushed, just wanting this over, wanting this thing out of you. The slippery slide of something pulled from your body. The relief. The first cry of a newborn.

“It’s a boy.”

“A son, we have a son.”

Thorin’s proud words pressed against your slick temple mingled with his soft kisses and anaesthetised your pain. Your heart stuttered, and you felt your husband lower you to the bed. Through dimming sight you watched him cut the chord between you and your son.

Your husband cradled his boy, now shrieking up a storm in his father’s large hands. The beautiful smile on Thorin’s face mesmerised you as you watched the moment your husband fell in love with his son. The tall wrought iron sconces that held burning torches threw gold and amber light on your boys, swathing them in a halo.

Swaddled in royal blue, and brought before your gaze you caught sight of two flapping arms, a small rounded mouth, and eyes that were Thorin’s, right down to the perturbed frown.

The midwife took your son to clean him up, and Thorin sat beside you. His eyes wet and weepy. The absurd grin he sported, showing off long white teeth, as he leant in and nuzzled your nose with his. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Promise me?” you asked. Thorin lifted a little to look into your eyes.

“Promise me?” you repeated.

Thorin nodded. “Anything, love.”

“Promise me…” your voice now a distant whisper, “…he’ll never know.”

Thorin frowned, you could barely make out the deep creases in his brow, shadows blended in your darkening sight. You wished you had the strength to stroke them away. Instead, your cold fingers and limp hands lay listless on the bed.

“Love?”

You tugged at your last reserves of energy. “He’ll never know… his mother… was… human.”

Your eyes closed, a final hiss of breath slipped from numb lips. Frantic arms gathered you up and crushed your cooling cheek to a warm chest.

Your mind zipped back to the day your mum died in hospital. Watching her in the bed, terror imprinted on her face, her rounded bloodshot eyes. You understood now as you remembered her frail hands clinging to yours, squeezing with infantile strength.

Your mum was never afraid to die. She just didn’t want to leave…you.

Dragged through a tunnel of light you sobbed as your name echoed in a howl of misery and wished, like your mum, you had a little more time to love your husband and son.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutouts to all the awesome reviewers who left me fabulous feedback:   
> JUMPINGMANATEE, ,Just4Me, Kat_in_the_Hat, Tina, chrisdurin, InsanelyCapricornus , Theresa+Christ, Sami, MrsOakensheild and Impatient. All of you are truly wonderful and amazing.
> 
> P.S. There's a special author's note at the bottom of this chapter.

This is the last full chapter of this story. Next part is the epilogue, and then sadly, there will be only one more story to tell in this series. 

* * *

 

 

Dragged through a tunnel of light by invisible hands, your last image of Thorin shrinking into the distance. You watched him cradle your body, a brain-jarring sight to witness. His howling cries filled with misery and grief stayed with you long after the image disappeared.

The brightness around you changed to mottled greys and blues. Your descent slowed, and you began to see shapes in the fog beyond the sheer tunnel walls.  Fragments of your life formed, sharpening into focus.

The first time you met Thorin and the other dwarves mingled with memories of your home in London. Birthdays and schooldays, celebrations and heartbreaks. Singing, badly, with your mum to the movie Grease, and planning her funeral. Eating stew with Fíli and Kíli and listening to Balin’s stories of great dwarf warriors and kings. Thorin lowering your body to a thick bed of leaves and making love to you.

It was a mosaic of your life, and you floated past each memory wanting to stop and examine it, hold it in your hands and lock it in your heart.

Your descent slowed and different moments blurred into focus. Times you didn’t know. 

A king on a throne, wearing gold armour. A young dwarf arguing with him. 

Balin leaving Erebor, Dwalin, Ori, Dori and Nori among those marching with him. 

“Moria is not safe, lad.”

You listened to Balin’s words and looked at the young dwarf. He had… Thorin’s eyes.

Your son! Here was your son, grown up. The near image of his father.

“I will not stay under the rule of a gold-obsessed coward.”

Different moments rushed passed. Hobbits, Men and Gandalf all stood in a room dominated by two large, ornate stone tombs and surrounded by skeletons.

“Balin is dead.” The wizard announced and turned to lay a hand on the second tomb.

“So too is the Lost Prince of Erebor.”

A dwarf mourned them both with a howl only his kind could make. Looked to Gandalf with sad eyes. “King Fíli must be told.”

Gandalf nodded. “I wonder if he knew?” Gandalf stroked the tomb, “Perhaps, it explains the sudden death of King Thorin.”

“Aye,” the dwarf agreed, “Tis said he cried his son’s name in grief as his heart stopped.” 

You were moved on, seeing your son as a lad. “Please, Uncle Dwalin.”

You couldn’t stop grinning at the cherub face that worked magic on the gruff warrior. Your smile slipped away as more moments of your son passed you. Always Dwalin with him. Never Thorin.

“My Father hates me. Isn’t it obvious.”

“Nay lad, he’s just…”

“Don’t defend him, Dwalin. All my Father loves now, is his gold. He despises the half-blood son who killed the true love of his life.” 

No! No, this couldn’t be. They were supposed to be happy. They were meant to have a happy life.

More fragments whizzed past, blurring into an endless spray of multicoloured memories that weren’t yours, but would haunt you for eternity.

Your body lurched to a stop, your breath forced out, your neck snapping forward. You beheld a circular cave lit with a thousand candles. A  plain stone tomb sat in the middle.

A figure leant upon it, body shaking from the tears he cried. Behind him Fíli and Kíli rushed in, and you watched your husband pried away from the tomb.

Thorin shook off his nephew's arms and backed away, body swaying. His long hair messy and unbraided.

You looked at your husband. His face screwed up in agony, his eyes red from too many tears.

About turning, he marched from the room. Fíli and Kíli followed, the elder stopped at the mouth of the cave. “I want this room sealed up. He cannot spend his life down here mourning her.” 

Oh, stop. Please. You begged, pleaded and prayed to whatever higher power held you in its vice-like grasp. Your body shuttled forward, and you clenched your eyes shut unable to look at any more of this horrible future.

You stopped once more, and like watching the proverbial car crash, your morbid instincts forced your eyes open to witness more of the carnage.

An old Kíli, silver-haired and sporting a long white beard sat beside a red-haired elf.

“I will never understand his fierce love of gold?” Tauriel questioned. “Neither you or your brother succumbed to  _ that _ sickness.”

“It’s simple,” Kíli replied, his voice trembling, sounding infirm. “Thorin loved his gold because it would never leave him.” He paused and looked up at the elf. “It could never hurt him.”

“No more,” you screamed, “Please, no more.”

The scenes around you began to lose shape and faded behind a curtain of white haze as your body flew onwards. The tunnel became radiant, changing into a rainbow. 

You landed heavily, dropped by invisible hands to a smooth floor blurred by a swirling mist. You stood up, scrutinising the desolate, foggy landscape.

Out of the cloudy distance, a body emerged walking towards you. You stared at the person, your brows rising and your mouth dropping open as their features came into focus.

You lunged into a sprint your arms open wide colliding with a woman. You grabbed her tight and pressed your head into her neck inhaling the smell of her hair, her skin. It was the scent of jasmine wrapping around you that convinced you she was real.

“Mum,” you sobbed. “Mum, Mum!” you couldn’t get any other words out. 

Warm hands you’d missed for too long came around you. Your mum stroked your back, your hair. She eased you away to look into your face. She tugged on a lock of your hair. “You grew it out, it looks beautiful, and no dye either.”

You giggled. When your mum died, you’d been leaving the ‘dye your hair every other day’ phase. Which came directly after the ‘cut it very, very short phase’.

“I missed you so much, Mum.”

“I know, darling.”

There was so much you wanted to say, but words seemed superfluous now. Staring into her happy eyes you knew instinctively you didn’t have to say anything, she knew it all anyway.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I have always been proud of you.”

You nodded, your eyes tearing up. You were with your mum once more. You could spend eternity here with her. 

Her arms dropped away as you stepped back. You looked her all over. She looked healthy and happy, lit from within by a radiance you wanted to bathe in. Not worn down from the hard life she’d lived, dying barely in her forties from an undiagnosed brain aneurysm.

You stretched out your hand, and she clasped it tightly. “I want to stay with you, Mum.”

She nodded and smiled, a tear dripped down her cheek. “I want you to stay, Sweetheart.”

You released her and said the one thing you’d always wanted to say to your mum, but never got the chance.

“Goodbye, Mum.”

 

* * *

You tried to cling on to the dream of your mum, but like all dreams, it faded into the depth of your mind, and you quickly forgot about a tunnel of light.

Your lids fluttered, and darkness gave way to an image of smooth slate-grey stone. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. When it did you recognised the wall, the windows, the desk, the bed.

A swell of muddied emotion engulfed you, and you broke into sobs that jarred your aching body.

“Love!” Thorin’s haggard face poked into view. Watery blue eyes caught yours. “Love. You’re…”

“Alive.” You finished for him. You didn’t hide your bitterness, and a  small part of your brain cautioned you to remember something significant about you living, but whatever it was soon became buried under your confused emotions.

“Don’t cry,” your husband pleaded. You brought up shaky hands and clawed them over your face, hiding your muffled sobbing. Arms tried to creep around you. It made you scream and shake off his touch.

After some time your tears slowed, and your sniffing trailed off. You finally released the tight hold on your face badly needing to blow your nose. You snuck a look around.

Piercing blue eyes appraised you.

“Have you finished?” Lady Dís asked, looking thoroughly bored.

You shifted up against the pillows, biting back your pain. This dwarrowdam, striking in her closeness to her brother’s looks, folded her hands in her lap and shifted slightly on the high back wooden chair.

“Well, if you have nothing to say. Allow me to do the talking.”

Dread barrelled through you at what you would hear. You’d never sought Dís’ friendship and had strived to keep her at arm's length along with everybody else. The princess had always been polite and friendly with you, but you’d been too guarded to take any of her words at face value.

You couldn’t look at her as you nodded, but this strange new feeling of strength growing inside overtook your bitterness and demanded you hear her out.

“My brother, as I’m sure you are already aware, is a bumbling fool.”

Your gaze snapped to hers.

“He’s as inept as they come.” Dís smoothed her skirts and straightened her back. “I’m surprised he was able to court you without a committee voting on his every action.” She looked down her matriarchal nose at you, “Let alone take you to wife.”

You glared around the room wondering if you’d been whisked off to the Twilight Zone. Or, were you really dead and this was hell?

“As for your sweet boy. I’m amazed Thorin didn’t need an instruction book and a map to get you pregnant.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“You see, when I heard all about you, I wrote to my brother telling him I should come to Erebor.” Her brow crumpled. “I regret letting him persuade me otherwise.”

“Why?” your question popped out unguarded, but the guilt on the princess’ face wasn’t deserved. This lady had done you no wrong, not like the others that waited out there in the halls of Erebor.

“Because I knew what would happen.”

“I don’t understand?”

“I know, but you will,” Dís replied. 

The dwarrowdam stood elegantly and sat beside you on the bed, her hand stroking yours.

“My brother can be very singular. He will find a focus and latch on like a dog with a bone.”

A chuckle bubbled out, sounding a little hysterical. You slapped your hand over your mouth, stifling the sound.

Dís snorted, a smile breaking free. “Go ahead and laugh. I assure you, my brother’s pig-headedness has had me chuckling more than a time or two.”

Her smile softened. “My sons, as troublesome as they are, cannot compare to what my brother was like in his youth.”

Now that did make you grin. Thinking of a young Thorin pulling off daring pranks and spouting bawdy jokes. You wondered if your son would be the same.

“Thorin should have had the freedom to grow as my sons have. As your son will.”

You gripped the Princess’ hand, earning you a delicate smile. “When at Azanulbizar, the battle that cost us our Grandfather and Father, Thorin inherited not just a crown. He inherited a people with no home and no hope. He inherited those that believed the crown should not be worn by a dwarf barely out of sucking his thumb.”

You frowned, an anger spiking up at people doubting your husband, perhaps even plotting against him.

“He inherited a prideful race that demanded much from him, but refused to give aid when he asked for it.”

“Why?” you blurted. 

“Pride, greed,” Dís shrugged, “Who knows their real reasons.”

“It’s not fair to him.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dís agreed, squeezing your hand.

“However, that is no excuse for his actions. You are his wife. The woman he has chosen to be his Queen. The mother of his heir. You are his true North. The one he must trust above all else.”

You nodded, feeling as though you’d been raked over the hot coals. You couldn’t pry loose the thought you’d failed Thorin and your son.

“This is why I should have been here.”

You cocked your head.

“I knew our people would not accept you. I knew you would need an ally. Being with child,  _ meant _ , I should have come sooner, regardless of my brother’s words.”

“I could never figure out why they hated me. I guess I put it down to being human. Being different.”

Dís shook her head, her face hawkish as she leant in. “It was never just about you being human or different.”

You waited, holding your breath, for the final piece that would make this jigsaw of misery a complete picture

“It was never just about your race. It was more about your position.” 

“As Queen?” You shook your head and shrugged at the ridiculousness of this situation. “This was all about jealousy?”

“No,” Dís shook her head, her lips twitching as she thought, “Not only jealousy.”

“Then what?”

“As a married couple, you are one. United until death parts you. Every decision made between you. Thorin is our King, and those around him will advise him. Though there are those, who would advise him well, like Balin. There are those who would put their agendas first before the people.”

“Okay?” You weren’t understanding this conversation at all.

“Who do you think would have the King’s ear first and foremost?”

You wanted to say Balin, but something in Dís’ keen gaze alerted you to the truth.

“Me?”

“Yes, you are his wife. And they fear what changes you could bring about in Thorin. Being an outsider, you know you see things differently to us. You come here with fresh ideas and untried goals.”

“But, I’ve never sat in on those council meetings.”

Dís threw her head back and guffawed at your words. You didn’t think they were funny at all and hoped she’d let you in on the private joke.

“My dear, you have altered Thorin’s focus just by being in his life. You are the bone he is attached to. You are his singular, compelling force. Everything he does now, he does with you in mind.”

Her hand stroked your face, stopping at your chin, gripping it between finger and thumb. “Even if he’s too stupid to realise it.  You have changed him.”

There was just one small problem with what Dís was saying. “But, Thorin never came to me with his problems. Never asked my advice.”

The princess nodded. “That’s because he’s an idiot.”

Well, your brows shot up your forehead. You hadn’t expected that from the princess.

“And,” Dís continued, her grip on your chin tightening, “You must not forget the part you played in this debacle.”

Here it comes, you thought. The long list of mistakes you’d made since stepping into Erebor. In hindsight, walking through the large stone doors was your biggest mistake.

“I know you planned to leave after the birth of your son.”

You lowered your head. You couldn’t stand to look into her eyes. “It seemed the best thing to do. I wanted them to be happy,” you mumbled.

“I know. This is why I asked Thorin to come sooner. I knew you would not be accepted by all, and as such, you would find it hard to cope.”

Dís nailed it on the head. “I didn’t want them doing the same to my son. Hating him because he wasn’t all dwarf.”

Dís sighed and shifted a little. Her hand dropped away, and she clasped both of yours.

“On the day I was to tell my husband I was expecting our second child, he died.”

You glanced up staring at Dís through the gap in your tangled hair. Her face lost in memories and you wanted to blurt out you were sorry for making her think about that time.

She took a stilted breath and continued, “My world ended and yet, inside me was this life growing, and all I could think of was being with my husband.”

You clasped her hands tight, pulled her a little towards you. You didn’t offer a smile, that would be condescending. Instead, you offered what little strength you had. Sure this was the first time Dís had spoken of this with anyone.

“I spent my time, while my belly swelled, wishing I could run away.”

Those words. Your chin trembled as wetness gathered in your eyes.

“This was how I knew your plan. This was how I knew you were disconnecting yourself from life. It’s what I did.”

Dís’ hands dropped yours and slid hers to your cheeks, pulling your head up to face her. “All I wanted to do was escape because I believed I could not be the mother, the princess, everyone expected to me to be.”

“How…” you swallowed back your tears, “How did you get through it?”

Dís smiled, and it was perfect and pure and filled with love. “I looked into the eyes of my newborn son and named him for his father.”

You remembered seeing your son, though his face was blurry in your mind. After all, you had convinced yourself you were dying.

And that thought opened the floodgate. Your tears ran fast down to the hands holding your cheeks. Dís’ thumbs tried to brush them all away, but there were too many to catch.

“I was scared. They hated me. I couldn’t let them hate him, or Thorin. I would ruin their lives. Thorin would hate me, eventually. And, my son, I was terrified of him one day hating me because of his heritage.”

“I know,” Dís whispered, “Let it go,” she begged, and you did. 

“They were all so cruel, and Thorin seemed so indifferent to it. I felt like I was failing him all the time and it was just easier to disconnect myself from everything. All I wanted was to run away.”

You fell into the hug and Dís soothed you with silly noises like your mum used to do. Her firm strokes down your back soon settled your cries, and you lay limp in her arms.

“Why are they all so greedy and spiteful?” you murmured.

“Not all,” she replied. “Some just follow, afraid to walk their own path. It can be hard to turn against powerful people.”

“So,” you surmised, “This is all about some who want to use him, others too afraid to go against them, so they stand by and let it happen. And when I came into the picture they all thought I would…What?”

“See them for what they are? Caution your husband on a new law? Perhaps, even, take up the causes of those with no true voice.”

You hated politics. It always gave you a headache. You shook your head, disgusted with all those weak and nasty dwarves and dwarrowdams.

A realisation came to you, but it didn’t hold as much power over you as you thought it would.

“They’ll never accept me, will they?”

“No,” Dís stroked her hand down your arm, “I accept you as my sister. That will ensure they have no other recourse but to act cordially.”

“Would they harm us?”

Dís laughed, “No, they would not dare raise a weapon to his king or queen. They’ll not like the way it is now, but they’ll defend you. You see it’s all about pride.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “Dwarvish pride. I guess it has its uses.”

“And…” you cleared your throat, “…What about Thorin. I know I’ve been unfair to him.”

“No,” Dís cut in, she pulled back staring beneath furrowed brows. “You’ve been hurt, humiliated, betrayed by those who should have been helping you to adjust. My brother does not get off free from this. You are his wife, and he should have been more focused on your needs than building a kingdom for you.”

“But, I wasn’t helping him either. He said that you…” your voice faded off, you felt like you were snitching on him.

“I can imagine what my brainless brother said. He puts me on this pedestal for being pregnant twice and for keeping up with my duties. An overweight slug could have kept up with my duties at Ered Luin.” Her mouth twitched, “Just don’t tell him I said that.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, and the laughter fell out of you, it even dulled the constant ache in your body.

Something new formed in your head, snatches of a conversation overheard.

“Hath stole the letter,” you said, watching Dís’ reaction. 

Her face screwed up, eyes turning to ice. “Yes, and my brother was far too lenient on her because of her sex.”

Well, that explained Dís’ anger at the time.

“My brother thinks a female is far less dangerous than a male of our kind. Had it been me, I would have treated her like a dwarf and stripped her of her title and wealth and returned her to the mines.”

Wow! Dís was an ‘Iron Lady’. You resolved never to get on her bad side.

“Thorin said something…”

Dís tilted her head a little, long black hair falling over her shoulder and tickling your arms. “There is much you must discuss with your husband. I can not do the talking for him. You must both talk.”

You got the message and nodded. Dís was right, you and Thorin needed to learn how to talk to each other, hopefully without it dissolving into an argument.

As if on cue the crunch of the door handle silenced you both and a worn out king peered in.

He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, and cleared his throat once more.

“Yes, Brother, I have finished speaking with your wife.” 

“No, no, there’s no rush. I merely wished to know if you wanted some dinner. And…our son, he…”

Oh, God, your son.

“What…what name did you choose?” you asked around the lump in your throat.

“He has no name,” Dís blurted. She stared down her nose at you, squinting a little, “You both need to name him.”

You nodded and looked down at your chest. Your alarmed eyes darted to Dís, the white sheet held two spots of damp.

“Hush,” she soothed and turned to the door. “Bring your boy here, Thorin. Help your wife.”

“But I’ve—”

“Thorin knows what to do.” Dís cut into your words. “He did help me raise two rambunctious dwarvlings.”

Dís stood up and presented you with an elegant curtsy, “Your Majesty.”

You would have taken her seriously if not for the smirk on her face. She was enjoying giving her big brother a hard time.

The Princess left in a swish of skirts, and soon Thorin was opening the door one handed, his other arm holding a baby, bigger than your average newborn. 

There was a part of you amazed that you managed to squeeze him out of your body. Thorin sat beside you and leant in before you knew what was about, your son was pushed into your arms.

You stared down at exasperated blue eyes. “His first feed was from a dwarrowdam who is still nursing.”

You glanced up at Thorin a question in your eyes.

“We had little choice, we were unsure…”

Christ! You’d put this dwarf through the ringer. “I don’t deserve you.” The words slipped out, and you couldn’t do anything to take them back.

His little finger stroked your son’s cheek. “I feel it is I who doesn’t deserve you.”

You watched him, this dwarf, who stood taller than most of his people. Wider and more muscular than any man back in your time. A warrior, a musician, a blacksmith, a leader. Your husband wore so many mantles it dazed you how he’d managed this life.

“I’m sorry, for everything. I wasn’t handling anything very well. And, what you said that night, I guess it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“No,” his hand came to your face, and his touch was timid and unsure. “I wasn’t there. I should have been guiding you, helping you adjust. I expected you to be able to handle all of this.”

“I would have…” you began. Thorin’s finger on your lips silenced you.

“From an early age I was trained in the event that one day, I could be King. I have Balin at my side constantly. I have my nephews and Dwalin, my sister. An entire family helping me rule. You didn’t have that. I put expectations on you that not even I could have achieved. And then I hurled terrible accusations at you.”

Your son snuffled his bottom lip wobbling. “He’s hungry,” Thorin spoke gently.

You looked at your husband and realised this mothering thing didn’t come naturally to you. “I don’t know what to do.” You panicked.

You didn’t mean to start whimpering. The fact that you had this life that depended on you and you didn’t have a clue about it. “I’m going to be a bad mother, he doesn’t deserve me.”

Your son started to grizzle, likely in agreement with you. The poor boy would be having mummy issues for the rest of his life. 

Thorin chuckled, “Here, let me hold him. While you…” he danced his finger over your top half, never quite touching but indicating certain strategic points.

Blushing, you slipped down the blanket, finding you’d been dressed in a nightgown that had five large, diamond shape buttons holding the top bodice together. Undoing them, you found they reached below your breasts.

Thorin reached out and with a finger slid the cotton aside, bearing a breast. When he’d exposed enough of your breast he leant in, and you cuddled your son to your chest, letting Thorin guide your arms.

Your swollen nipple a deep brown in colour waited for your baby’s mouth. Thorin reached beneath your nipple plucking it up, and you watched mesmerised as your baby searched. He found it, and latched on, taking a deep suck that shot pain through your breast, hitching your breath. 

“It will take getting used to, Dís said earlier that her discomfort only lasted a week.”

You nodded, not caring, your entire being now focused on the half dwarf, half human, beautiful and amazing baby boy you’d both created.

Those blue eyes caught yours once before slipping closed, one tiny hand rested on your skin, fingers kneading you. Something locked into place within you. It even had its own clicking sound. Your heart engorged, fat on the love that filled you. A protectiveness, fierce and growling speared through your soul. You’d been such a fool.

“I nearly lost this,” you spoke to your son. 

“I nearly lost you.”

You tore your gaze away to look at the other great love in your life. Thorin’s words brought your tears back. You wanted to say you were sorry.

“We should have talked,” Thorin continued. “I should not have let you put me off so easily. There was something I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t find the words.”

“Hath stole the letter.”

Thorin nodded, his lips twitching bitterly. “Amongst other things.”

“I overheard Dís and you talking.” You confessed.

“Dís has… explained to me the importance of communicating with my wife.”

In other words, you thought, Dís had kicked royal arse.

“She’s right. If we’d both been more open and honest.” You shrugged, not wanting to do this right now. It seemed breastfeeding drained you.

Your son was asleep, and Thorin guided your nipple from his puckered mouth. “Would you like me to take him so you can rest.”

You wanted to sleep, but not alone. “Can’t he stay in here, with us?”

It seemed Thorin was ready to stay away from you. His surprised look had you bowing your head in shame. 

“Don’t.” You looked up at him. “Please, don’t hide your face from me anymore. I cannot stand that I was the one to wound you so deeply.”

“Then stay, please, just…just hold me.”

Thorin was quick to have a bassinet set up beside the bed. Your sleeping son, still without a name, settled within.

Thorin next came to the bed and crawled up behind you, trying not to jar your body too much. You still had aches on top of aches.

“We need to name him,” you said as Thorin pressed against you, your head gravitating to the pit of his shoulder.

“What about your father’s name?” 

You scrunched up your face, “My Father?”

“Yes,” Thorin pressed his lips to your head.

“Thorin, my dad is a bigger prick than you could ever hope to be.”

“A no would have sufficed.”

You chuckled then grabbed at your belly. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“What about your father…or…” you swallowed, tipping your head a little to look up at your husband, “…What about your brother?”

Thorin shook his head, “I want our son to have a name as unique as he is.”

“What about…” Thorin whispered the name in your ear.

You stared towards the window, mulling over the name. You tumbled it around in your mouth and found it fitting well. 

“I like it,” you whispered. Perching on one elbow, Thorin keeping you steady you leant over the side of the bassinet

“Reuel,” you whispered, and a little puff of breath followed by the sweetest snore answered you. Your son agreed.

It all became too much, and your eyes rebelled, lids closing, sleep whisking you away to happy dreams of the future. Your last remembered moment, warm arms circling you holding you safe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Author's Note: Extra Brownie Points and Love, my friends, if you can tell me the inspiration for their son's name!!!!


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